


Sex, Happiness, Shiny Teeth and Other Things Worth Fighting For

by Essie



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: All sort of one thing, Auror Harry, Fuck Or Die, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Veela Draco, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essie/pseuds/Essie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let me get this straight," Harry peered at Dawlish over the top of Malfoy's case file "Malfoy's brewed a potion that, erm, bottles Veela characteristics, and has without proper testing, research or Ministry approval ingested it?" Harry paused, waiting for Dawlish to nod before continuing, "Now you want me to guard him from the sexual advances of hormonally crazed bystanders, while he works on making an antidote?"</p><p>"Excellent, Potter. You were paying attention. That's the second time this week."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex, Happiness, Shiny Teeth and Other Things Worth Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chyldofeternity](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chyldofeternity).



> This was originally written for hds_beltane. chyldofeternity asked for H/D, porn, veela!fic, UST, flangst with a happy ending, powerful!Harry, heroic!Harry, snarky!Draco, and "some sort of random meeting, and curiosity from one half about the other's life." I would like to send out a huge thankyou to tkp for coming through at the very last minute to beta for me, and kateh, who helped me construct the entire plot via several rounds of lengthy emails. You guys are love!

Harry was surprised to see the pale and uncommonly angular face of Draco Malfoy peering up at him from beneath his shopping bags full of self-cleaning dishware.

"I think you dropped this." Malfoy was holding out a packet of sponges that had fallen from the top of Harry's over-stuffed bag.

"Yes. Thank you."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly as Harry twisted around to retrieve the item, bringing his face into full view.

"Potter." He nodded coolly but politely.

"Malfoy," Harry returned. Then he turned back around, and tapped his foot awkwardly, hoping the queue would hurry up a bit.

This was somewhat awkward. What does one say to one's loathsome school rival turned useless war enemy turned vindicated respected member of society. _Hullo, how have you been since last we spoke and you tried to kill me and I saved your life?_

"How've you been?" Harry asked. He also smiled tightly but as he neglected to turn around and actually face Malfoy the whole exercise was rather pointless.

Malfoy coughed, and Harry could hear him shuffle his feet, in what Harry imagined to be discomfort.

"Fine. And you?"

"Oh pretty good." A pause. "How's your family?"

A tense smile. "They're well. And your-" Another pause. "Friends?"

"Also good. Actually that's why I'm here. Buying engagement presents for Ron and Hermione."

"They're engaged? That's…unexpected."

"Really?" Harry turned to face Malfoy, genuinely curious, "Why?"

"Hm?" Malfoy seemed thrown that Harry had veered from their unbelievably strained small talk. "Oh. Just back in school we all thought those two would kill each other if they ever actually started shagging."

"I always thought they'd kill each other if they didn't."

"That too."

Malfoy stared at Harry. Harry stared back.

"You're next." Malfoy said.

"Huh?"

"The cashier's free. You're next."

"Oh. Right."

Harry shambled over to the checkout counter with only a mediocre level of embarrassment.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Harry asked Malfoy, as he finished paying for his kitchenware. He honestly didn't know what made him say it. It was just that Harry hadn't seen Draco Malfoy in over three years, and now here he was, and Harry had always been the curious sort. Especially when it came to Malfoy.

"What?"

"You know, a drink. It's been awhile. We could talk. Catch up maybe."

Malfoy nodded, and that was that.

 

 

"I took a Veela potion." Malfoy said after round five, "That's probably why you're so interested in me all of a sudden."

So far Harry had learned that Malfoy was still living at the manor, where he was working as a freelance potions researcher. Sometimes schools or people paid him to run experiments for them because the manor had one of the top labs in Europe, and he had published a few articles in potions journals under some pen name that Harry couldn't be bothered to remember. Also, Malfoy couldn't hold his liquor.

"What kind of Veela potion?"

"The kind that makes me supernaturally attractive." Malfoy furrowed his brow. "I think I'm drunk."

"Why did you take it?" Harry had always thought Malfoy would be far too vain about his aristocratic prettiness to mess about with those sorts of potions. He glanced at Malfoy and added, "And yes you are. Very drunk."

"Because I'm stupid," Malfoy answered, and Harry wasn't going to argue with that one "It was the way they looked at me." Malfoy continued, "Everyone. Looking at me with disdain, thinking, 'you're a Death Eater. You killed our relatives. And we don't like you.' It wasn't fun. I just wanted to be liked. And I'm really _really_ drunk. I should go home."

"Yes, you should."

"But not just yet, because you still have to tell me something."

"I've told you lots of things." Which was true. He'd told Malfoy about his job as an Auror, and about the hassles of Ron and Hermione's wedding. And they'd discussed Quidditch for awhile there. Malfoy was proving to be alright company. Comparatively speaking. He hadn't insulted Harry's parentage once so far.

"No. Tell me something interesting like…" He pursed his lips into a thin line and appeared to be thinking. It was kind of cute. Perhaps Harry should inquire more about this Veela potion. "Like what happened with you and the littlest Weasley? Are the papers true? Did she break your heart and run off with fellow Hollyhead Harpies chaser Cora Anne?"

"Kinda, actually."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up and he nearly knocked his drink over "Really?"

"Well, er."

Harry thought back to his breakup with Ginny. He didn't even know when it had started. The first time he'd kissed her maybe, back in the Gryffindor common room all filled with adrenaline and joy and the knowledge of war fast approaching. Then he'd gone to fight, and he'd left her, because he'd had to really. There hadn't been another choice, not a right one anyway. And he'd loved her so much, thought about her in the cold winter nights, locked away safe in that tower just where he'd left her, something worth fighting for. He'd won and come back and they had been happy for a while.

But in the end Ginny had been far too much the heroine of her own story to play the damsel in his. He couldn't begrudge her that. Not when he'd lost so many, and she was safe and alive and happy, and he still saw her on holidays and sometimes at games.

_"Maybe someday we'll work out as an us, but right now I need to work on just being me,"_ she'd told him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, before walking out his front door.

"Yeah." Harry nodded at Malfoy. "That was pretty much how it happened. Ditched me. Hooked up with Cora Anne. I didn't really mind though. I mean _lesbians._ Can't argue with that." He shrugged then thought of something else. "And I didn't cry! The Prophet is a lying shit pile. I didn't cry."

"Nothing wrong with men who cry," Malfoy mumbled into his drink.

Harry looked up at that, and remembered finding Malfoy sobbing in the bathroom, remembered being shocked that it was Malfoy. Shocked that Malfoy could have that much pain in him, that much feeling, like a real human. He remembered his own embarrassment, the need to avert his gaze, to run. Remembered feeling like he was seeing something private and raw, something he wasn't meant to see. Seeing _Malfoy._ He remembered even earlier Moaning Myrtle telling him and Ron that there was a boy regularly crying in the bathroom. He remembered thinking it was pathetic.

Malfoy looked up. The green eyes found the grey.

"No,, there isn't." Harry said.

They finished off their pints.

 

 

"Ran into Malfoy yesterday, in Diagon Alley," Harry said to his usual table of lunch break friends. "We went for a drink. He was almost personable. Though that could have been the Veela potion."

"Veela potion?" Dawlish's head shot up, and Harry's mystery-with-inevitable-dangerous-conclusion sense picked up. Dawlish was head of the DMLE, which made him technically Harry's boss. But it was common knowledge that Dawlish had only landed the job because everyone else even remotely qualified was either dead, retired, or needed for something more important.

With the department almost entirely staffed by war veterans, everyone mostly treated each other as friends rather than adhering to the superior/underling relationships demanded of their professions and ranks.

Also, it helped that he was Harry Potter. People treated you with an alarming amount of respect when they knew you'd saved the world once, and survived an unsurvivable curse twice.

"Yeah." Harry nodded over his pumpkin juice. "Why? Is it important?"

Dawlish didn't answer, but a day and a half later, Harry found himself at the gates of Malfoy Manor, on Auror business.

 

A mob of screaming witches (and a few wizards) were camped outside when he arrived. The frantic mass clamored to offer their bodies, assorted valuables, and first born children to the most magnificent Draco Malfoy.

"Oh. You're Harry Potter." A witch looked up at Harry from over the top of her omnioculars, and Harry gripped his wand tightly, prepared to defend himself against a publicity riot. "Is it true you were once in a fist fight with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry blinked.

"What was does that Adonis body feel like writhing against you?"

"Er…"

"Oh! Those Quidditch trousers are awfully tight. Did you feel his—"

"Is that Malfoy?"

The witch spun in the direction Harry was pointing, and he slipped under his Invisibility Cloak.

A House Elf named Mipsy responded to Harry's rather frantic Patronus and took him past the gates. She led him into a drawing room off the side of the portrait-lined entrance hall. Harry was thankful to find it was not the same drawing room Hermione had been tortured in four years ago. Still, being back in Malfoy Manor was bringing unpleasant memories to the surface. He would be glad when this job was finished.

Fifteen minutes and two cups of expensive tea later Malfoy strode through the door. Harry looked up to chastise Malfoy for keeping him waiting, and promptly stopped breathing.

Malfoy was wearing a pair of plain black trousers and a crisp white button-down shirt. A black robe was draped over his shoulders, hanging open at the front. He looked as though he'd just come out of the shower; his cheeks and lips were flushed from heat, an effect very noticeable on his pale skin, and his hair was damp. It hung loose in wet locks around his face and neck. The top two buttons of his shirt were open and rivulets of water ran down the V of exposed skin. Harry had the strangest urge to follow their trail with his tongue.

He couldn't stop staring. His mind had short circuited, and all his senses were spinning with need. Malfoy was fucking hot.

The effects of the potion had certainly strengthened since the last time Harry had seen Malfoy. Or maybe he was just more aware of their effects now that he understood what was going on.

Harry thought back to his conversation in Dawlish's office.

"Let me get this straight," Harry peered at Dawlish over the top of Malfoy's case file "Malfoy's brewed a potion that, erm, bottles Veela characteristics, and has without proper testing, research or Ministry approval ingested it?" Harry paused, waiting for Dawlish to nod before continuing, "Now you want me to guard him from the sexual advances of hormonally crazed bystanders, while he works on making an antidote?"

"Excellent, Potter. You were paying attention. That's the second time this week." Dawlish appeared genuinely pleased at the notion. Harry arched an eyebrow, and continued, unimpressed.

"Why don't we just lock him up? Keep him in isolation while he does," he paused, searching for the right word, "whatever it is he needs to do?" The pleased look on Dawlish's face dissaparated, and he let out a long suffering sigh.

"Have you even looked at the briefing report? We don't write them up so you can line your parchment disposal bin with something other than pornographic magazines."

Harry snorted. "I don't read pornography in the office."

Dawlish furrowed his brow "Really? I used to when I had your job. Still would if I had the time."

This was more information than Harry had ever wanted to know about Dawlish. Not that he could say he was surprised.

"Er, right. You didn't answer me about the isolation."

"Mr. Malfoy has rights. And those rights mean we can't lock him up in a cell until he's actually broken a law. Troublesome I know, but there it is."

Harry raised his eyebrows "I was under the impression that production and possession of non-Ministry approved potions was a violation of several regulations."

"Ah, but then, we'd need to explain why the folks at the Department of Mysteries contracted him to manufacture the stuff in the first place. And frankly those guys freak me right out."

Harry couldn't argue with that. It might be uncalled for, but just the thought of The Department of Mysteries gave him the creeps.

Harry peered down at the folder again, and was reminded of a fatal flaw in the Ministry's plan. A flaw that Harry, as a noble and honest Auror, had an obligation to mention, regardless of how uncomfortable it might be.

"That's all well and good, but I really don't think I'm the best person for the job."

"Of course you are. You've the best resistance to mind altering spells of anyone in the department, in the whole Ministry, I'd care to wager. I've never seen a soul throw Imperius the way you do. But then Unforgivables always were like water off a duck's back to you."

"Er, thanks, but be that as it may I still think putting me on the Malfoy case is a bad idea. When we were in school together I… what I mean to say is…Malfoy and I have a history and-"

"I know all about your history Potter, and I should hope that as a responsible member of this department, and as a reasonable adult, you will be able to put a schoolyard rivalry behind you."

Dawlish was adopting his 'I'm the boss, and you will listen to me' mannerisms, something he rarely ever did, especially around Harry. He was also making a good point. Harry fidgeted in his seat.

"Yes sir. I just meant that given my, erm, feelings for Malfoy in the past it might be best for the assign—"

"Look Harry." Dawlish slumped, losing the boss pretenses. "I understand that you have personal issues with Malfoy, and honestly I wouldn't put you on this case if I could help it, but there really is no one else. From what I understand this potion is affecting even the strongest minds. I need you on this."

Harry was momentarily quiet while he processed what Dawlish had just said, and tried to work his thoughts into something that resembled a reasonable and not horribly embarrassing rebuttal. Dawlish seemed to take Harry's silence as capitulation, because he scrambled up from his desk.

"Oh, would you look at the time. I do believe I'm late for a meeting." At the door he threw Harry a smile and a wave "Thanks, Harry. And good luck."

Harry nodded, and the door swung shut.

Alone, Harry sank down into his chair and groaned. This was very much not a good idea. Malfoy brought out the worst in Harry. Always had. The prat got under Harry's skin, frustrating Harry to no end, making him petty and irrational. Harry didn't know if he could do this. But then Dawlish had said he needed Harry, and he couldn't very well abandon his duties as an Auror. He was being ridiculous. He was forgetting all about their nice little run-in in Diagon Alley. They'd behaved with near perfect civility. They'd had drinks. He'd had fun. So why was he suddenly panicking now? It's not like anything had changed since yesterday. And they'd both changed since school. It would be fine. Besides, he was an Auror, a trained professional, and he'd faced more difficult tasks than this. After all he'd been through, he could handle Draco Malfoy. It would be fine. And if it wasn't he could deal with it. He'd make it through alright. He always did.

 

Harry clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. _This isn't real. It's just potion-induced Veela allure._ Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to remember everything he knew about fighting the Imperius Curse. It required something that his Auror instructor had called 'finding your center.' Harry thought that roughly translated to 'getting some stones.' He hadn't faced Voldemort just to fall all over Malfoy in a magically-induced hormonal daze. He was stronger than this.

Harry opened his eyes and attempted to relax his countenance. The lust remained; the physical evidence was undeniable, but there was no longer a dizzying fog pressing in around the edges of his brain.

Malfoy was watching Harry intensely, his expression unreadable.

"Malfoy." Harry inclined his head in greeting.

"Potter." Malfoy raised an eyebrow. His tone was cool but polite, just like when they'd met at the store.

"That potion of yours got pretty strong pretty fast," Harry said, and then mentally kicked himself when he realized that he might have just admitted to finding Malfoy attractive.

Malfoy didn't appear to notice, because he dropped his cold aristocrat front and slumped into an armchair, pouting.

"I know." He sulked then looked up at Harry "So the ministry sent you?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded, taking a seat across from Malfoy. "I'm your new body guard."

"Sounds lovely," Malfoy said dryly.

"Hey!" Harry didn't even know why he was offended. Things could be going much worse. Considering.

But Malfoy's eyes lit with amusement, and a small smile graced his thin lips. "Nothing personal. I just don't fancy being watched every second of the day."

Harry could relate to that. "That's a change."

"What is?" Malfoy asked "My not wanting an audience, or it not being personal?"

"Both," Harry conceded.

Malfoy looked at him for a moment, and Harry looked right back.

"Well." A smile broke over Malfoy's face that did funny things to Harry's insides. Malfoy's eyes were dancing. "If I'm going to have a shadow it might as well be you." He stood and walked to the door, pausing there to look back at Harry. "You were right, Potter. Like always. It is personal between us."

Malfoy left the room before Harry could respond, much less figure out exactly what he had meant by that. Was it a threat or… Harry couldn't finish the thought. It was absurd. Clearly his mind was being influenced by the Veela potion.

Malfoy popped his head back into the room. "Well, are you coming, or were you planning to use your amazing Chosen powers of sitting on your arse to guard my precious body from sexual assault?"

Harry scowled half heartedly, and his mind pointed out that Malfoy's plan actually might be a working one. Then he scowled whole heartedly.

"What's made you the king of unhappy land?" Malfoy asked, noticing Harry's expression. Images flashed through Harry's mind. The Forbidden Forest looming ahead of him as he walked to his death. Hermione screaming under Bellatrix's wand. Ron's accusing eyes the day he'd left. The unmoving faces of Tonks. Lupin. Fred. Snape. Dumbeldore. Sirius. His dad. His mum. Harry clamped down on his thoughts and took a deep breath. Malfoy was looking at him with a curious expression.

"Sorry," he said. "It's nothing. I'm just good at being miserable. You should know that." He threw Malfoy a grin, hoping he'd accept Harry's light tone, and joke, and leave it at that.

Malfoy was still looking at Harry strangely, but he smiled back. "Yeah. I should." Malfoy whirled around, breaking the tension Harry didn't know had coiled inside his gut. "Come on then, Potter. I don't have time to waste on your bouts of self-indulgent moping."

Harry felt he should be insulted by Malfoy's words, but instead he felt himself grin. He rolled his eyes at Malfoy behind his back. Feeling suddenly and improbably light, Harry followed Malfoy's lead.

 

Over the next few weeks Harry adjusted to life in Malfoy Manor better than he expected he would. Malfoy proved once again to be surprisingly good company. Harry didn't know if it was the Veela potion boosting Malfoy's charisma or just Harry's low expectations, but he found himself enjoying his time with Malfoy. Relatively speaking. There were worse people to be stuck babysitting twenty-four seven.

Harry discovered that Malfoy had a rather clever sense of humor. Alright, so it was often also a rather cruel sense of humor, but then Harry wasn't exactly a marshmallow himself. And besides, a little shedenfreude never hurt anyone. At least they hadn't gotten into a single fist fight or screaming match. Harry found himself very pleased with this accomplishment. Perhaps inordinately so. This newfound companionship could also be the result of them both knowing they were stuck alone in a house together, with no one to defuse any aggressive tension they might decide to build, so they needed to keep themselves civil.

Neither Narcissa nor Lucius were in residence, as the latter had wriggled out of time in Azkaban through a set of desperate political machinations, a brilliant lawyer, and a Portkey to France. Apparently he had ties to some rather important French nobility, and Great Britain—Wizarding and Muggle alike—was in no state, after the war, to be upsetting foreign powers. Harry also suspected that part of the reason Malfoy senior was not being pursued with more vigor was due to the testimony Harry had given on behalf of Draco and Narcissa after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry wasn't quite sure how to feel about this. Regardless, if Lucius set foot on British soil he would be arrested and tried for crimes against the universe.

When Harry had asked Malfoy where his mother was, Malfoy's body language had gone tight and he'd said she was "staying with father." Then he'd asked for Harry to please pass the pickled bazaloot liver. That had been the end of that conversation.

Malfoy spent almost all of his time working in his potions lab, presumably looking for a way to reverse the effects of the potion. Harry spent most of his time sitting across the room from Malfoy, with nothing to think about except how nice Malfoy looked with his sleeves rolled up, or how long Malfoy's fingers were, how high his cheekbones were— freakishly so, really. Harry spent a greater portion of his time than he would ever be comfortable admitting looking at Malfoy's silky hair, wondering how the hell Malfoy got it to stay like that, and wishing he could just run his fingers through it. For tactile purposes, mind. Not that it mattered. It was all just the Veela potion, anyways.

 

Harry picked up a handwritten notebook from Malfoy's desk around the second day, and rifled through it. It looked dry and over his head, but he was bored and curious.

Malfoy's head shot up. "Put that down!" Malfoy snapped, reaching for the notebook in a hurry. Harry easily handed it over. "Don't look through my notes," he told Harry, once the book was firmly back in his clutches.

Harry's interest peaked. "Why not?"

Malfoy looked at him warningly. "I mean it Potter. I don't go rifling through your private possessions."

"That's because you don't have access to my private possessions," Harry pointed out.

"Please." Malfoy looked at him imploringly, and Harry didn't think he had ever heard Malfoy use that particular word with him before. "It's like a journal. There are personal things in here, and I'm asking you _please_ don't read it."

And oh how Harry's curiosity was itching now, but he looked at Malfoy's face and his own conscience was nagging at him too.

Harry crumbled. "Fine. You win. I won't look." He sighed, throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

"Promise?" Malfoy asked.

"Promise."

Malfoy's shoulders relaxed and he let out a long breath. "Good. Now go be a good little guard dog and check that the lustful hoards aren't breaking down the gate. As if they could," he scoffed.

Harry rolled his eyes, and went to check on the lustful hoards.

 

He had set up a secure perimeter of precautionary spells around the manor, Malfoy's laboratory, and Malfoy's bedroom his first day there. He checked them all once a day, and walked the perimeter of the Manor three times a day under his Invisibility Cloak, taking care to inspect all the wolves at the gate.

Shouldn't someone be taking care of these people he wondered. What if they didn't have family or friends to take care of them? What if they did and those people were worried? But Harry couldn't take care for them and guard Malfoy at the same time, and ultimately the best way to help them would be to make sure Malfoy found his cure as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Still, he watched for signs of starvation, insomnia, and hypothermia. They weren't in their right minds, and there was no telling what they were and were not doing to take care of themselves. So far they'd all been fine. If you called camping outside a complete stranger's house and shouting yourself hoarse with declarations of love fine.

 

Harry and Malfoy ate meals together. Dinner in the dinning hall, which had given Harry more than a little pause the first time he'd sat down. It wasn't until halfway through week three, however, that Harry finally couldn't take the uneasiness of it, and voiced his concerns to Malfoy over roast ribs.  
"How can you stand to be here?"

Malfoy gave Harry a blank look.

"I live here."

"No," Harry clarified. "I mean, this room. I saw what Voldemort saw, some of the time. I saw what he did here…what he made you do." The image of Malfoy shivering, nearly sobbing over a crumpled body, wand outstretched and hand shaking, as a cold voice, Harry's voice —No— Voldemort's ordered him to use Imperius flickered in the air between them.

"Oh." The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "Yes Potter, a lot of things have happened in this room. That's what happens when a place has been around for several centuries." Malfoy's words tried to be demeaning, but the slight strain to his tone undermined his nonchalance. Harry felt a stab of guilt at having brought up the war. It was a painful subject for both of them. But still—

"Yeah but—" He started in again, and stammered, not sure how to say what he was thinking.

"But what?" Malfoy's tone was strong and daring. His eyes flashed an almost angry challenge. It reminded Harry of Quidditch, and suddenly his concern for Malfoy's feelings wasn't quite as important as meeting that dare.

"But Voldemort used this room as his home base, his throne room. He killed people here. Made you watch. He made you torture people here, and who knows what else." Harry felt his voice rising, along with his blood pressure, his anger, his desire to _figure it out._ "Don't tell me you don't have horrible memories about this place, because you must. I've seen them, Malfoy."

"Of course I do!" Malfoy slammed his cutlery onto the table loudly, his tone matching Harry's in volume and fervor. "Just how thick are you, Potter?" And there was that patent Malfoy sneer. The one he'd given Harry almost every day at school. The one that said, 'you are a pathetic creature, unworthy of the dirt beneath my feet.' The one he hadn't seen Malfoy give once since he'd bumped into him in the checkout line, almost two weeks ago now. Oh, how he'd missed it. And that last thought was almost enough to make Harry completely miss what Malfoy said next. Almost, but not quite, because, Harry found that now he was more interested in what Malfoy had to say than he ever had been.

"Don't tell me you don't have horrible memories." Malfoy did a mocking impression of him, but Harry could only find himself smiling. Malfoy didn't appear to notice, too wrapped up in his tirade. "Oh good job, Auror Potter. Cracked that case like a pro. What would the Wizarding world ever do without you?"

Sarcasm was dripping from Malfoy's every derisive word, and Harry grinned broadly.

"What?" Malfoy eyed him skeptically.

_I missed you._

The smile slid from Harry's face as something like terror clenched at his innards. So he tried to steer the conversation back on course. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What was it again?" Malfoy asked archly. "Your stupidity appears to have frightened off my short term memory."

"How can you stand to be here?" Harry repeated.

Malfoy studied him for a moment before answering.

"And why wouldn't I want to be here? Do you see The Dark Lord here now? Any Death Eaters, hm? Aside from yours truly that is."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy apparently wasn't finished.

"You can't live off a bad memory, Potter. Or, in our case, a lot of astonishingly horrific memories. The war's over. It's done. He's gone. You played martyred hero, and saved the world. Good job. Give yourself a pat on the back, and _move on._"

Malfoy picked up his utensils again, and continued eating, possibly to demonstrate this moving on business. Harry sat there silently, trying to collect his thoughts, and process what he wanted to say. Finally after several quiet moments he settled on, "Is it really that easy for you?"

Malfoy looked at him again, and made a point of swallowing the meat in his mouth and setting down his cutlery again before answering. "No. But since when are you the poster boy for easy?"

"We weren't talking about me." Then Harry grinned. "And as I recall you _loved_ to take the easy way out. You would have cheated at cleaning your teeth if you thought you could get away with it."

"I'll have you know my dental hygiene is impeccable." Malfoy said, with the air of one greatly offended.

Harry snorted.

"What?" Malfoy looked at him. "You don't believe me? Here, look." Malfoy pulled his lips back across his teeth and brought his jaw forward revealing two rows of perfectly straight white teeth.

"Yes, very shiny." Harry laughed. "You look ridiculous like that."

Malfoy leaned back in his seat, making a show of crossing his arms over his chest and pouting, but Harry could see the smile threatening to break through.

"So you really don't mind being here?" Harry asked again, because he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the concept.

Malfoy rolled his "Do you mind being around Hogwarts? The Forbidden Forest? The ministry? Gringotts? Britain?" Malfoy spread his arms out as if to prove his point. "You have bad memories from all those places too. The Dark Lord ruled this whole fucking country, Potter. But he's gone now, thanks to The Bumbling Messiah, and we've got our homes back. And even if he did manage to paint them with some dark memories, so what? It just means we have to work that much harder to give them some new ones. Some happy ones."

Malfoy went back to eating, and Harry felt his chest expand almost painfully. Or was it contracting? That had actually been intelligent. It was intelligent, and insightful, and _beautiful._ And it had come from the last person Harry would ever have expected to say it. Well, maybe not the last, but certainly not the first.

Harry remembered being in the Room of Requirement, everything on fire, and he'd almost left Malfoy behind. He'd gone back on principle, and stupidity, not because he had thought Malfoy was worth it. But he was. He was worth it. Malfoy was completely and absolutely worth saving. And if Harry hadn't gone back, if he'd followed his own ideas of who deserved to live and who deserved to die, instead of his heroic impulses, then Malfoy never would have said those words. Not to him. Not now. Harry had never been so thankful to have saved this man's life.

Malfoy fell out of his chair.

"Are you alright?" Harry rushed to his side, adrenaline and Auror instincts kicking in along with worry. His wand was in his hand and he was at Malfoy's side ready to defend, even as he started checking for threats, and looking to see if Malfoy was ok. He didn't get very far because Malfoy pushed him off in a huff.

"I'm fine," he snarled. "And put that away. No one's attacking; I was just clumsy." Harry didn't buy that for a second, but he did lower his wand a fraction and refocus his attention fully on Malfoy.

Malfoy was shaking, not much, but if you were looking for it, it was clearly there. Now that Harry was looking, Malfoy appeared more drawn than was probably good for him. Had he been that pale in school? It was difficult to say how bad he looked, how sick. Was Harry just imagining it? The last time he could remember seeing Malfoy at full health they had both been fifteen.

"You're shaking. Here let me—" He reached out to help Malfoy off the ground, but Malfoy recoiled.

"I said I'm fine!" He spat, "I don't need your help, Potter. I'm not some helpless wreck waiting for the great Harry Potter to swoop in and save me. Just leave me alone!"

Harry didn't point out that as Malfoy's bodyguard he couldn't actually do that, but he did back off, and give Malfoy some space. He tried to be as invisible and unobtrusive as possible, while he pulled his thoughts together.

He also tried not to let Malfoy's rejection hurt him. That was just what Malfoy was like. Harry knew that. He knew that Malfoy was abrasive, and entirely willing to bite the hand that fed him, because the obtuse wanker probably couldn't tell the difference between it and the one that slapped him when he was down. Well, Harry wasn't going to let something as foolish as stubbornness get in his way. He was going to help Malfoy, whether the prat wanted it or not.

Because, Harry thought, he probably needed it, especially after the display Harry had just witnessed. Malfoy's vitriolic reaction to Harry's help spoke libraries more than his fragile body ever had.

Something was wrong with Draco Malfoy, and Harry was going to figure out what it was. And then he was going to fix it. After all, he was Harry Potter. That's what he did: saved people and their shiny teeth.

 

Things continued as they had before, only now Harry was noticing Malfoy's condition. And it was getting worse. He dropped things a lot. He was losing weight. And he kept pressing his head as if it hurt.

Harry was worried. Achingly, nail-bitingly worried. He was so worried it _hurt._

Predictably, it only took five days for him to crack.

 

Malfoy was working in his lab, when he dropped his quill for the fourteenth time that day.

Harry had been counting.

"You don't look well."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "There are hordes of witches and wizards camped outside the gates who would disagree with that assessment."

Harry's eyes automatically traveled up and down the length of Malfoy's form. He could feel himself blush. "That's not what I meant."

Malfoy's lips twisted into a vicious smirk, his expression downright predatory. "Think I'm good-looking then." Malfoy advanced on Harry, who was suddenly finding the room uncomfortably warm. "Hmm?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Annoyingly.

"Don't play games with me, Malfoy. You know that Veela stuff doesn't work on me." Mostly, Harry added silently, and was pleased to find that his voice had not wavered once. Maintaining his conscious effort to steel his features, Harry continued. "I'm here to protect you, but I can't do that if you won't give me the full story. I'm not blind. You're clearly sick. Explain."

Malfoy recoiled as if he'd been slapped, because he was weird and over-dramatic like that. "Fuck off, Potter," he sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you think that's enough to get rid of me you're more stupid than I thought."

Malfoy let out a bark of cold laughter "You're right. I'm stupid," he sneered. "I'm so stupid that I stupidly took a potion that's slowly killing me."

"What?" Harry breathed. The heat had been sucked out of the room, along with all the air. Harry blinked in the coldness, trying to comprehend what Malfoy had just said.

"You heard me. The Veela potion. It's killing me. Turns out my pathetic human body isn't equipped to process this kind of magic. And now I'm going to die, slowly and disgracefully." Malfoy's tone was coarse and bitter, but Harry was too wrapped up in his own worries to process the self-recrimination.

"Isn't there some kind of cure?"

Malfoy gave him a look. "What do you think I've been working my arse off everyday for the past month trying to find? The new formula for sleek-easy potion? Guaranteed to solve your split end problems?" Malfoy eyed Harry's hair "Well, maybe not _yours._"

Oh. Right.

Harry wanted to argue with Malfoy some more, or do something helpful maybe. But there was nothing he could do, and he couldn't think of anything left to say. So instead he nodded and went to recheck the defensive spells around the perimeter.

 

"What's it like to die?" Malfoy asked him another six days after that.

Harry, who had not been expecting the question, felt his heart stop in terror.

"You're not going to die," he said firmly.

"Never said I was." Malfoy shrugged. "Although, you know, I am. Eventually that is. Everyone does. Except maybe for you, because you're just a freak, Potter."

"I'm going to die, and so are you, but not for a long while yet, so there's no point in worrying about it right now." Harry didn't want to think about Malfoy dying. It wasn't even an option. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

Malfoy went back to his work and didn't speak again for several minutes so Harry thought he'd dropped the subject.

"Does it hurt?" Malfoy's voice was strong and clinical with a detached curiosity, but Harry remembered himself saying those words. He had been scared, and alone, and God, so scared. He didn't want that for Malfoy, for anyone. He couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

"Faster and easier than falling asleep."

Malfoy nodded. "I suppose the Killing Curse would be. They say it's a quick, painless way to go. Merciful, if you think about it."

He hoped to God that Malfoy wasn't alluding to some sort of euthanasia, because there was no way Harry was going to do that. No way because Malfoy _was not_ going to die.

"Stop it!" he snapped. "No more talk about death."

"Sorry." Malfoy glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Upset him? Upset him! Malfoy was the one who was sick. He was the one who should be upset. Not that Harry wanted Malfoy to be upset, but this, this resigned defeat— it was unnerving. He'd rather the hissing spitting Malfoy. The one raging and groveling and cutting corners, doing anything to save his own skin. At least that Malfoy cared about himself. This one didn't seem to even seem to care about that much any more.

Harry grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders and spun him around so that they were face to face, leaning in mere inches apart. Harry could see the apathy in Malfoy's dull grey eyes, and it made him want to hit something. Malfoy, for choice. He almost did.

"Listen to me," he said instead, his breath hot in Malfoy's face, his blood pumping with adrenaline. "You are _not_ going to die. You are going to figure out a way to fix this, and you are going to be fine."

Malfoy stared blankly back at him. Harry wanted to shake him. So he did.

When he let go Malfoy slumped back into his chair and gave Harry a faintly amused look. "Are you done?" Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "All your caveman urges properly vented?"

_Not even close._

Harry pushed that thought aside because it was completely inappropriate.

"Tell me you're not going to die," Harry said instead, looking down at Malfoy's drawn and pointy and living body.

"I'm going to do my damnedest not to, but what if I can't find an antidote, Potter?" Malfoy asked reasonably.

Harry didn't want to think about that. It wasn't an option. "You will," he growled.

"Why? Because Harry Potter wanted it to be so?" Malfoy cocked his head to the side and pretended to be considering something. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. It seems to be the secret to success."

Harry scowled.

"Oh just leave it, Potter," Malfoy sighed. "I don't want to fight."

"That's new," Harry quipped, frustration still boiling under his skin.

"Not really." Malfoy had turned his back to Harry and started measuring something in spoon. "I've never been much of a fighter. I'm more of the run and flee type, or the hide in a corner type. Or even if the situation calls for it cower and beg type. Of course, that's all if I really have to. Given the choice I stick to the age old motto 'make love not war.' But the fighting. That's all you, Potter."

Harry actively ignored the part about making love. "I seem to recall you provoking a fair few fights back in school."

Malfoy shot him a wry smile. Harry insides flipped over. "Only for you Potter. You always did make me crazy."

Harry didn't know what to make of that, so he sat back down in his chair. The anger from earlier had subsided, but the left over adrenaline still made him twitchy and he fidgeted.

"I don't like fighting either, you know."

Malfoy snorted.

"I don't!" he argued, indignant.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned to face Harry again. "Sure Potter, then tell me what all that 'you're not going to die' stuff was about. Or how about all those 'Yes, I dare' challenges to The Dark Lord. Or there was that time you beat me up in fifth year—"

"I get it." Harry cut him off.

"Do you?" Malfoy tilted his head to the side. "Do you really, because I don't think you do. You love fighting. You have to fight. You get off on it. Whether you're fighting against the most powerful dark lord in history, or death, or me, or your own impulses doesn't matter, because if you're not fighting something than you don't feel alive, you don't feel like you're living for something. You need it, Potter, plain and simple. And that's fine. It's one way to go. Whatever gets you hot and bothered." Malfoy turned back around, and Harry could just stare. Malfoy shrugged. "Personally, I can't imagine. Don't you ever get tired?"

Harry thought of the war, and all that time in the woods with Ron and Hermione, and then with just Hermione. He thought of that painful trek into the Forbidden Forest, how weary and difficult it was.

"Of course I do. Everyone does. But that doesn't mean you can just quit," he said fiercely, and believed every word. He hoped he could make Malfoy believe it too.

"Never said I was. Maybe I'm just playing a different game."

Harry didn't know what to make of that statement so he tried another route. "But you're going to do absolutely everything in your power to make sure you live?" Harry asked.

"Sure." Malfoy's voice sounded dull and dry.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's shoulder again, and forced the other man to meet his gaze. "Promise me," he said.

"I promise."

 

Three days later Harry broke his promise, but he figured it was alright because Malfoy broke his too. Things evened out. They were both liars. And, Harry thought later, it was probably a good thing.

 

Harry slammed the parchment down, and tore through the manor frantically. Blinded by the desperate angry need to find Malfoy, Harry collided bodily with the infuriating blond in the entrance hall.

"Mmf. Merlin, Potter, watch where you're going! Doesn't—"

"Why didn't you tell me the answer was sex?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy blinked at him. "Pardon me?"

"The cure," Harry panted, "why didn't you tell me it was sex?"

"How did you—" Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously; "You went through my notes."

Harry had the grace to be a little embarrassed. Only a little. "Yes, but—"

"You went through my notes after I specifically asked you not to. After you promised— you promised—that you wouldn't look at them."

"I didn't mean to. I—"

"You didn't mean to?" Malfoy gave Harry an incredulous look and Harry was momentarily speechless. Malfoy looked quite adorable when he was feeling righteously indignant. Knock it off, this isn't the time. Malfoy shook his head in disgust and walked away, muttering under his breath. "So this is how the Ministry treats people under its protection. Fuck, Potter!" He whirled on Harry. "Do you have no concept of other peoples' privacy, oh boy-who-wished-the-papers-would-leave-him-the-fuck-alone? Bloody hypocrite."

"Yes. I mean no. I mean—" Harry ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Yes. I'm a hypocrite, and it was wrong for me to go through your stuff, and you can yell at me as much as you want. Later. Because right now we need to talk about the fact that you're dying."

"I should think that would be an argument for why I should yell at you now." Malfoy shrugged; his tone was light. "I might be dead later."

Harry did not think this was funny. "Not if you have sex," he protested. And then Harry did something he was rarely inclined to do: he thought about what he had just said. "Which, actually, why haven't you? There's certainly enough people willing, and if it's going to cure you and all…" Harry made a useless gesture with his hands that clarified nothing, and only served to make him look like an idiot.

Malfoy looked at him as if he were duller than plankton. It was something Snape had often done in Harry's presence. The thought made Harry weirdly nostalgic.

"Firstly, it is not going to cure me. I have yet to discover a cure for this blasted poison." He inclined his head. "It might, however, alleviate the symptoms."

When Malfoy didn't offer any further explanation Harry folded his arms over his chest. "Explain."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I believe I've told you that my body is deteriorating, because it's reacting poorly to the unhelpfully strong Veela allure?"

Harry nodded.

"Well what did you think the purpose of Veela allure was in the first place?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow that indicated what he thought of Harry's deductive reasoning.

"To attract a mate?" Harry guessed. It actually made perfect sense now that he thought about it.

"A suitable sexual partner, yes." Malfoy tilted his head, a lock of white blond hair falling across his face. He looked so composed, and Harry wanted to shake him. How could he be calm at a time like this? "I suppose 'mate' works, although I've generally heard that term used in the context of long term animal partnerships, but yes essentially."

"Ok…" Harry said slowly, fitting the pieces together in his mind, "so what constitutes a 'suitable sexual partner?'"

"Oh anyone," Malfoy waved his hand flippantly, "as long as I think they're relatively attractive, and they physically assist me to orgasm…" He shrugged. "Magical hormones aren't terribly picky."

Well, he was back where he started then. If the reason Malfoy hadn't had sex wasn't because he couldn't find a suitable partner, Harry was stumped as to why he would have abstained, especially when it could very well save his life. The Malfoy Harry knew had always taken every opportunity he got to do whatever was in his best interest, especially when that meant saving his own life. If there was one thing Harry knew about Draco Malfoy it was that he was a survivor.

"So why haven't you let somebody, erm, physically assist you to orgasm then?"

It was as though someone had pulled a dark veil across Malfoy's face; his expression was downright brooding. "Veela magic's dangerous, especially at this strength, and certainly uncontrolled. Sex with me, right now, could be hazardous for any partner I choose."

Harry peered at Malfoy, eyes downcast, expression dark; he wanted to take him in his arms and protect him, comfort him, make everything better. "Dangerous how?"

"I— I don't know." Malfoy's earlier indignation and arrogance had almost entirely faded now. He looked so lost, almost scared. "This potion's never been used before, so I couldn't say, but judging from Veela magic in general…." He trailed off and flicked his gaze around; Harry wanted to hit himself for thinking it was cute.

"Well, uncontrolled, it creates a kind of sensory overload, and short-circuits an individual's power reservoir. In wizards that's generally their magic, in Muggles, their life. But, you know, if you ran down all of a wizard's magic…" He swallowed, and didn't finish the sentence. There was no need. "It's usually temporary, but well, sometimes not. It all depends on how strong the Veela magic is and how much power the individual has to begin with." Malfoy gave a wry smile. "With this much uncontrolled Veela magic I'd be shocked if I didn't seriously hurt someone."

Harry blinked. One part of his mind was working feverishly, piecing together solutions, while the rest was stuck on something far more puzzling. It seemed impossible. Harry's whole world was turning on its head once again. "You're going to let yourself die, because you don't want to risk hurting someone else?" His tone was a mix of disbelief, anger, and admiration.

"Oh don't think this is some kind of noble sacrifice," Malfoy sneered, apparently reading Harry's mind. "I would if I could, but the Ministry's got me under constant guard." He gave Harry a cruel once over. "And what do you think they'd do if I killed some innocent Muggle? They've been itching for an excuse to prosecute my family since we got off after the war."

Harry did not point out that Malfoy allowing himself to die in order to protect his family was a noble sacrifice. Harry had something more urgent to talk about right now. "Right. So theoretically if you found a person strong enough, you could shag them without harming them at all."

Malfoy eyed Harry skeptically, thrown by the change in conversation. "Theoretically, yes," he said slowly.

"Good." Harry grabbed Malfoy roughly by the shoulder, and brought their lips together. In the second it took for Malfoy to recover from his shock and shove Harry roughly away, the arousal he had been fighting all month came flooding back to Harry full force.

"What the fuck, Potter!" Malfoy looked white and shaken. In fact Harry thought he might actually be shaking.

"Sex will cure you right?" Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but Harry cut him off. "Or at least give you more time to figure out how to cure yourself."

Malfoy was looking at Harry as if he had gone insane. His eyebrows furrowed around wide grey eyes, and his chest was moving up and down quickly with his ragged breathing.

"Well, I'm pretty good at defending against Veela magic, and I'm not exactly weak." People had been telling Harry all his life that he was powerful, but he had never really believed them. Now he kind of hoped they had been right, because his decision was the same either way.

"No," Malfoy spat, and he looked more like a cornered animal, frightened and hissing, than anything else. "Absolutely not. Weren't you listening to anything I just said? What do you think the Ministry would do if I hurt Harry Potter, hell, what do you think the public will do?"

"I'll lie. Say it was something else. I'll make you an Unbreakable Vow if you don't trust me." Strangely Harry was feeling better than he had in a long while. He knew what he wanted. Knew what he had to do.

"No! I…what if I kill you?" Malfoy's voice had a desperate edge to it. He was grasping at straws.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Give me a break. That hasn't happened to a healthy magical being in over five hundred years, and even then it was done intentionally by the most powerful full-blooded Veela in written history. You're only a half-arsed potion Veela." Harry might not know about the intricacies of healing and untested potions, but he had done his research. He wasn't a completely incompetent Auror. Also Hermione had made him. "Besides I've got a fairly good track record when it comes to not dying."

Malfoy looked as though he didn't know how to respond to that, and Harry pressed his advantage. "Look, I fuck you, and you live another day. You won't kill me, but if by some fluke in the universe I'm not one hundred percent alright, I'll make sure you don't get blamed. There's no downside for you here, Malfoy. Do you want to live? Tell the truth."

Malfoy nodded.

Harry took this as consent, but apparently he was wrong, because when he reached out for Malfoy a second time, his hand only found air.

"I don't need your pity fuck, Potter," he sneered, his tone acidic. Harry had never seen Malfoy look so enraged, except for maybe that one time in the bathroom sixth year.

Malfoy strode out of the hall and it wasn't until he had disappeared behind a door, that his words caught up with Harry. Pity fuck. Did Malfoy think Harry was only doing this because of some misplaced sense of heroism? Did he think that Harry didn't want him? Didn't he _know_?

Malfoy was in the drawing room when Harry caught up to him. The one with the purple walls, and the empty light fixture where a chandelier used to be. Harry had to grab Malfoy's wrist to keep him from running. Harry had spent most of his sixth year chasing after Draco Malfoy; he was sick of it.

"It's not a pity fuck—" Harry began but Malfoy cut him off.

"Of course it is. What else would it be?" Harry opened his mouth to answer but Malfoy kept going. "You think I'm a useless excuse for a human being. You treat me like dirt right up until the point where my life's in danger, and then suddenly I'm your fucking damsel in distress," he spat. Literally. It wasn't actually as gross as it should be. Or at all.

"Well fuck that!" Malfoy shouted in Harry's face, before closing his eyes, and clenching his jaw. Trying to reign in his anger, Harry thought. When Malfoy opened his eyes they were filled with some emotion Harry couldn't identify. It looked somewhere in the family of sadness. When he spoke his voice was thick with unnamed emotion. "Don't you already have enough of me?"

Harry didn't know what that meant, but he knew he needed to explain himself better. Calmly, and as gently as he could manage Harry tried, "I'm sorry if I've treated you like dirt. I don't think you're a useless excuse for a human being; you just really piss me off sometimes— most times, and to be fair you haven't exactly been Mr. Congeniality to me either, but whatever. It doesn't matter."

Harry took a deep breath, gathering up his courage, "And yes, of course I want to save your life —I don't want you to die— but you're wrong if you think that's the only reason I want to sleep with you. Not everything I do is an act of selfless heroism." He looked Malfoy directly in the eye, and holding the other man's gaze confessed, "I want you."

They stood there for several interminable moments, Harry's hand on Malfoy's wrist, his palm getting sweaty, and his heart jack hammering against the inside of his chest, their gazes locked. Harry's instincts were screaming at him to pull Malfoy close, to make the decision for him, but Harry knew that that would be a bad idea. So he waited, watching Malfoy's face, creased with emotion. What that emotion meant Harry could not say. He would have given his Firebolt to be a Legilimens, right then.

When Malfoy finally broke the silence, the words out of his mouth, spoken in a broken whisper so raw Harry couldn't doubt their sincerity, were the last thing Harry had expected.

"I don't want to hurt you."

It was, absurdly, the most terrifying revelation Harry had ever had. It made him feel like flying without a broom.

Malfoy cared about him.

The infuriatingly attractive man in front of him looked small. Eyes wide with fear, and face white in the uneven light of the waning gibbous, he looked younger, delicate, and Harry was forced, once more, to remember that Draco Malfoy was really very human.

He was beautiful.

"You won't," Harry said softly, and took a step forward.

"You don't know that." Malfoy's voice was shaking in feeble desperation. Desperation to protect Harry. "Merlin, you're arrogant! You—you just think you're invincible, that you can do anything, take anything. But you can't!"

"I don't think that."

Harry took another step, and Malfoy was shaking. Their bodies inches apart Harry could see the pores on Malfoy's nose, the oil on his skin, the crevices of saliva in the corners of his slightly parted lips.

Malfoy took a jerky step back, stumbling over his own movements. And all Harry could want was that staccato body reverberating against his own.

"You do! You—listen! You can't have me. You can't. It's dangerous. I'm too dangerous!"

Yes, I dare.

"I want you."

And then there were no more words because Harry had slammed Malfoy back against the wall, pressing their bodies together, mashing his mouth against Malfoy's. And fuck, it felt good. Malfoy made a whining noise, that could have been protest or encouragement, but Harry was far too distracted by the hard line of Malfoy's ribs, and the heat in his abdomen to care. Malfoy's chapped lips parted under his, and Harry shoved his tongue roughly into the opening. Malfoy was kissing him back, and moving against him now. It was a messy and brutal meeting of mouths, with far too much tongue and spit, but Harry couldn't get enough.

Malfoy pulled Harry's hips against his own—when had he put his hands in Harry's back pockets—and Harry gasped. He could feel Malfoy's erection, hard against his own, and his hips rocked instinctively forward.

"Stop," Malfoy panted, breaking their mouths apart.

Not this again. "I told you. I'll be—"

"I know, Potter. You win. Like always." Harry couldn't process what that meant just now, because Malfoy's words were coming out in hot uneven puffs of air against his mouth. "But do you think we could take this to my bedroom?"

Harry recalled that they were in the drawing room. That spot five feet away might be the place where he had become master of the elder wand. "No." Harry's lips brushed Malfoy's as they moved, and it felt like fire.

"No?" Malfoy gasped, breathless and needy.

"I want to give this place a new memory." And he covered the fledgling smile on Malfoy's lips with a kiss.

 

It was all a heady mess of heat and power and magic and oh god yes after that.

Harry's hands slid desperately under Malfoy's shirt, trying to get at as much skin as possible, because it felt. So. Good. He heard the shirt buttons rip, which he hadn't meant to do but it didn't matter because now Malfoy's ribs were under his fingertips, rising and falling with the panted breathes that Harry was drawing from his lungs.

Harry tweaked Malfoy's nipple roughly between his thumb and forefinger, and Malfoy's head hit the wall. His lips broke from Harry's, and he made a high pitched keening sound. And Harry ached.

"I want to fuck you," he growled against Malfoy's neck, and then licked the salty patch of skin, because it was just right there.

"Do it," Malfoy grunted. Harry fumbled for the zip on Malfoy's jeans, trying to wedge his hand between them without moving their bodies a millimeter apart. It wasn't working very well. Malfoy grunted his frustration and pushed Harry away. His mouth came off the side of Malfoy's neck with a pop of suction.

Harry hadn't even known he had been sucking. He was dizzy with the loss of skin, and dizzy with need, and dizzy with something else.

"Veela magic," Malfoy said, and somewhere in the back of Harry's mind he processed what Malfoy was telling him, but it didn't matter because that pale body was naked in front of him. Two feet away, with that pink cock jutting out from the downward V of his obliques.

Harry dropped to his knees.

A lick to the head. "Oh fuck, yes." Malfoy hissed through gritted teeth.

There was bitter precome on Harry's tongue, and the smell of sex and sweat and raw human man was all around him. He opened his mouth and swallowed that cock whole. Sucking, down, down, down, as far as he could take it. In, and then out again, in a rhythmic motion, with his neck doing all work, and his tongue moving in quick swipes along the underside. Keep your teeth out of the way. He had to remind himself. And breathe.

He could feel the rush of blood through Malfoy's gorgeous cock, feel the pulse against his tongue, feel it move and strain, and live.

God, Malfoy was coming alive in his mouth. But not coming. Not yet.

A hand fisted in his hair, and Harry couldn't tell if it was meant to drive him onward or stop him, but he didn't care. Rubbing himself through his jeans with his right hand, Harry brought his left up to Malfoy's cock.

Malfoy gasped above him. "Stop." Harry almost didn't register the word, so absorbed in the rush, but the hand in his hair tightened and yanked. His mouth pulled free of Malfoy's hardness, and he looked up into grey eyes, now heavily clouded with lust.

Malfoy looked so perfectly debauched, flush cheeks and swollen lips, every path of blood showing perfectly against his near translucent skin. Harry stood and captured that mouth with his own again, pressing himself back up in a line against Malfoy's body, pressing Malfoy back against the wall.

A hand found the zip to his jeans, and he was fairly sure it wasn't his, because he couldn't tear his fingertips away from Malfoy's skin.

The sound of a metal zipper roughly being pulled down. Hot breathing in his ear. The panting so harsh that it might be a loud whisper, or a soft sigh.

Malfoy took Harry's cock in hand.

Smell and taste and touch and—

His cock fell against Malfoy's, nestled between their stomachs, and Malfoy wrapped his hand around them both.

Magic. Burning all around him inside and out. Skin and sex and—

They rocked together, thrusting against Malfoy's palm, and Harry's saliva.

Power. Building, building, building—

"I'm gonna—" Malfoy gasped, and Harry knew what he was going to say because Harry was gonna too, and he could feel it with every fiber of his being and every sense he had, biological and magical alike.

Until it burst so brightly and completely, and everything was eclipsed by that release.

Their come mixed together as they spilled simultaneously over Malfoy's hand and onto both their stomachs, and Harry held on, clinging to Malfoy because he knew it was so much, so much he could just lose himself. Float away and never come back. Ride the wings of contentment and pleasure until they carried him away to someplace warm and gentle, and it was so tempting, but he knew he couldn't go. So he clung to Malfoy, and clung to himself. He couldn't let go. He couldn't—

Everything went black.

 

When Harry woke he was in a bed and Malfoy was peering down at him, now fully clothed.

"Are you awake?" Concern saturated Malfoy's voice, and Harry blinked. He nodded.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Malfoy sighed in palpable relief. "I'm sorry. I didn't know the power wave was going to be that strong. But you made it." He laughed wryly. "Of course you did. You're Harry bloody Potter. You can fuck a magical bomb powerful enough to turn the city of London into a smoking crater, then sleep for a few day and wake up sated and unharmed."

"I never did get to fuck you," Harry murmured, and Malfoy smiled. "You look better," Harry noted the color in Malfoy's skin and the ease of his movements "It worked then?"

"It worked," Malfoy nodded. "And I found the antidote."

"Really?" Harry sat up a bit and then had to wait for the world to stop spinning. "What was it?"

Malfoy looked him in the eye "Your blood." Malfoy pressed a hand to Harry's forearm. "I hope you don't mind; I took a little while you were out. It's all healed now, though. Just a shallow cut."

"My blood?" Harry asked, "But why? That doesn't make sense."

Malfoy rolled his eyes in the way that Harry had come to understand meant he thought Harry was beyond moronic. "It makes perfect sense. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. You have an immunity to Veela magic. Or at least the power to weather it. At first I thought you just had a disciplined mind, but then I remembered that Snape had once mentioned how you were a terrible Occlumens. And really I should have known better than to think you of all people had an impressive mind. All evidence to the contrary. But the point is, that meant it had to be something different, something innate, more central to who you are. Something in your body. Or, more specifically, something in you heart, which meant it would probably be in your blood." Malfoy grinned. "Yes, I know. I'm a genius."

Harry smiled. "You are." He was still trying to process the whole 'something special in your blood' thing. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"Can I ask you a question?" Malfoy's voice went calmer, and his eyes more serious.

"Of course," Harry said without hesitation. He would do anything for Malfoy. Whose life he had just saved. Again. It was a good feeling.

"Why did you read my notes?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Malfoy. 'Here are some books that you must never ever read, and I just happen to write in them everyday while I work on the solution to saving my life.' You think I got to be an Auror because of my fame?"

"Among other things." Malfoy smirked.

Harry blushed, which was beyond ridiculous at this point.

"Come on, Auror Potter. Your job here is done. Let's get you up and back to work."

 

"The guys down at The Department of Mysteries have been hammering me pretty consistently for a sample of your blood," Dawlish told Harry around a mouthful of pastrami sandwich.

"I'm not surprised." It had been a week since he'd left Malfoy Manor. His report was filed. The lust crazed mobs had wandered back to their lives rather confused, and the Ministry had dispatched witches and wizards to deal with them. Harry hadn't heard from Malfoy once. He wasn't returning Harry's owls. "What did you tell them?"

"That they can suck it, of course," Dawlish grunted. "No one messes with my department."

"Thanks." Harry smiled.

"Sure thing."

 

"Oh Harry, we've missed you!" Hermione exclaimed, running into his arms with a bright smile and a big hug. "Mind, we've been a bit busy with the wedding plans, but you've been practically unreachable."

"Yeah." Harry ducked his head. "I've been busy too."

"Good to see you, mate." Ron left the kitchen of his and Hermione's shared flat and clapped Harry on the back. Harry grinned. It was good to see him too. It was good to see them both. After spending all his time pining over Malfoy, it was good to be around friends. "So how'd playing body guard to Malfoy go?" Ron asked in a tone that meant he was braced for tales of horror.

Harry smirked. "You got an hour?"

When he was done with his tale Ron was spluttering disbelief, and Hermione was etched in worry. They had dinner, and laughed and caught up, and talked a little bit more about Harry's love life, until Ron insisted they shut up about it and play some Exploding Snap. Harry was grateful.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder before he left that night. "Harry, this thing with Malfoy. Just," her eyes bled with concern and love, "follow you heart."

"Thanks, Hermione." He hugged her. "I always do."

 

The next morning found him banging at the gates of Malfoy Manor demanding to speak to Draco Malfoy. It was an odd feeling of déjà vu. After about an hour Malfoy took pity on him and came to the gate to meet him.

"What?" Malfoy scowled.

"Do you wanna go to dinner with me?" The words tumbled out of Harry's mouth before he could think about them, but they were good enough.

Malfoy peered at him skeptically. "You're asking me out?" Harry nodded. "Why?"

"I would've thought that was pretty obvious." When Malfoy continued to stare at him blankly Harry elaborated. "I fancy you."

Malfoy sighed, "Potter, the Veela potion has worn off. I'm just Draco Malfoy, remember. You don't fancy me."

"I know who you are." Harry's voice was low, and there was an intensity in his voice that he hadn't meant to use. All the emotions Harry had been feeling for weeks, years really were swelling to the surface, making him painfully aware of them. He couldn't think of anything else to say. His throat was closed up with emotion, and he stared intently at Malfoy's nervous grey eyes.

Malfoy looked away. "Right," he said blankly. He swallowed, visibly. "It was nice seeing you then." Malfoy made to close the door. He was going to leave, and Harry did not want to examine why that thought hurt so much.

"No wait!" Malfoy looked up. "Malfoy—Draco," he corrected himself. "It wasn't the Veela potion. It never was. It was you." Then more quietly, "It was always you."

"Always?" Malfoy whispered, uncertainly, but Harry thought he heard a hint of hope. It gave him courage.

"Yes, always." Harry fiddled with his wand a bit. "Or at least for awhile. I can't really say when. You were an annoying wanker, and I didn't know until a few months ago that I liked blokes as well as women, but yeah I—this isn't new."

Silence.

"Will you go out with me then?"

"It'll never work." Malfoy shook his head.

"How d'you know? We haven't even tried yet."

"Harry," Malfoy's voice scratched a little over the word, "I'm me, and you're you. It's impossible. It's a disaster waiting to happen."

Yes, I dare.

"Just one date?" Malfoy looked like he might accept, so Harry added, "Please."

"You don't want me."

"I do."

"No, you think you do, or at least you do now, but I don't need saving anymore." What did that have to do with anything? Harry furrowed his brow in confusion, and Malfoy must have read his expression because he continued. "You have a hero thing. You fall for needy people, and then once you're done fighting the good fight, and they're all well and saved, you get bored and move on."

Harry had never heard his love life put in such simple terms. He didn't know whether to be unnerved that he was that transparent, or strangely relieved that his relationships actually made sense now, or upset because Malfoy's theory did not make for a promising future. He settled on grinning instead.

"Needy people huh?" Harry teased, "I guess you have nothing to worry about then."

For a moment Harry was worried that Malfoy was going to hit him, but instead a smile broke across his pale face, and it was like sunshine spreading over Scotland's March sky. Unexpected, and so very bright. He sighed, and Harry suspected it was for effect. "You're not going to let this go are you?"

"Not a chance in hell."

"One date," Malfoy conceded, and Harry felt like he had just caught the Snitch. He thought he could see the feeling mirrored behind Malfoy's eyes, and Harry wondered if maybe it was possible for everybody to win.

It was something worth fighting for, in any case.


End file.
